Pink tips
by sharkinterviewee
Summary: Everything about Gamora running her fingers through his hair as they relaxed by the fireplace together in the super cliche, warm, wholesome silence was perfect. Or, they were in silence, until she broke it. She was still lovingly carding her fingers through his hair when she absently noted, "We need to get you some hair dye." (Gamora and Peter on their honeymoon)


Sometimes it felt like the whole universe was against them, but, at least this one time, the galaxy had their back. Gamora had known better than to hope that there wouldn't be some major universe ending threat that coincided _just_ with the eve of their wedding, but Peter was ever the optimist that just this once the universe wouldn't screw them over and they'd get to enjoy a peaceful honeymoon.

Drax insisted that their post-wedding celebration last a week, though both Gamora and Peter felt like that was pushing it and just asking for trouble. They couldn't leave the kids alone that long unsupervised. Rocket would end up blowing something up, Drax would pick a fight, Groot would get lost, or Mantis would get hurt. At least one of those would happen if they were left to their own devices for more than 24 hours. A whole week? Their team needed a babysitter.

But… so far so good.

It was day two of their honeymoon now, the team having surprised them with the private cabin reservation that was actually planetside as a gift at their wedding.

It was a nice, quaint little thing in the middle of a wooded forest, the image so perfect and wholesome it belonged in a picture frame. Really, it was just… warm. That was the only way to describe it.

They had finally begun to relax (they'd both been worried about leaving the team on their own the first day). By the second day, they had started to settle down into the idea that they were genuinely going to get a whole week together, just the two of them, getting to relax without having to worry about the world ending or any other pressing matters.

They were still unwinding and adjusting to the idea, but as the flames crackled in the fireplace that night in the softest and warmest moment they'd ever had, they seemed to be getting along just fine.

Gamora hummed, running her fingers through Peter's hair as the light danced upon his face. Peter was sitting on the ground, his head leaned against the bed, eyes closed with the most peaceful expression and she couldn't get enough of just watching him. Gamora was actually on the bed, laying down on her stomach and stroking his hair for the past goodness knows how long. Everything was perfect.

"We need to get dye for your hair," she noted absently, carding her fingers through his soft brown curls.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, looking up at her. She seemed pensive, and he wasn't quite sure how that could be a sincere thought, but he was also sure it was. He could tell by the expression on her face.

He sat up straighter, confused by the meaningfulness that seemed to be in her voice at such a random statement. He had no idea where that came from, but it had him smiling in perplexion and amusement as he tried to figure it out. He gave her a look, waiting to see if she was going to offer an explanation, but it didn't appear so.

"Uh, what now?" He asked, amusement still evidenced on his face. "I stopped being an intergalactic fugitive years ago. Do I have gray showing or something? Is it really that bad? Bad enough that I need to go out and get the closest shade to Terran brown I can find at some alien marketplace?"

By that point he was already grabbing at his hair and trying to pull some of it into his line of sight. It was a useless endeavor anyway. While his hair had grown out a little, it still wasn't long enough for him to pull down his forehead to see. That didn't stop him, though.

Gamora rolled her eyes with an affectionate huff. "No," she smiled, shaking her head. "We need to get you some pink dye."

Peter raised his eyebrow at her. "Go on," he prompted. "I'm curious to see where this leads."

She socked him in the shoulder for that. A little hard. God, she was so strong. And it was a little arousing, as he rubbed his arm from her fist.

What? It's their honeymoon. He was allowed to be turned on by how his wife's playful punches to the shoulder actually kinda hurt.

"For real though. Why do I need pink hair dye? For funsies?"

"No, not for funsies," she said in a teasing tone (and it took all he had to not do a fist pump for getting Gamora to say 'funsies', even with her mocking tone). "You're joining my family now. So you're supposed to have pink tips too," Gamora informed him, twiddling said tips between her fingers, playing with the ends almost nervously.

"Okay, cool," Peter immediately agreed, and something about that just made her laugh. Gamora tilted her head towards his, smiling shyly, and Peter grinned right back at her.

"So is it like a Zehoberi thing?" He asked, raising a hand to fiddle with the ends of her hair too. "Did I just marry into the pink tips family or something?"

"Something like that," Gamora conceded, her lips upturning even more, eyes crinkling around the edge with the most genuine smile. She was so beautiful. And he was absolutely in love with her smile. He fell more in love with it every single day.

"Can you tell me more about it?" Peter asked gently.

He always felt so special and… privileged, whenever he learned something new about Gamora's culture.

* * *

So she did.

She told him about how the families made their own dyes by picking berries on her homeworld. How it was a regular ritual since the dyes were all natural, and had to be redone every month. How every family had a unique recipe for the color that was kept by the matriarch. How when they redid their colors, it was always a celebration.

* * *

"We lived in multigenerational homes. Households," Gamora went on to explain. She always loved sharing these pieces of memories she had been able to keep hold of with Peter. She loved how he always gave her his full attention, how riveted he was even when it was regarding the most banal things, how much these stories mattered to him. She loved how important they were to him. "Everyone that lived under that family's household would wear that family's color," she continued. "Pink was my father's color. My mother's family had some rich, dark color, I think. I don't remember it as well, since we lived with my father's family, I didn't see my mother's family as often. When they wed, my mother joined my father's family, so she took on pink hair tips. If they had lived under my mother's family's household after their marriage, my father would have taken on my mother's colors. And I would be sporting some dark blue or purple color instead of this." Gamora ran her fingers through her vibrant tips as she described them. Pawing through her own hair really, not in a nervous manner, but still a comforting way. It was almost a gesture of self soothing, though she didn't need to be soothed right now. As she ran her fingers repeatedly through the pink ends of her hair, it just felt… familiar. In a good way. A truly good way.

"The grove that had the berries we picked from for our color wasn't far from the household. We'd often go as a group- similar to the picnic concept you've told me about," she looked back at him then, and saw that he was smiling at the memory. He'd told her before about going on picnics with his mother, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with his grandparents or his mother's siblings and cousins as well. They were always happy memories for him.

Peter reached out, softly dragging his fingers through her hair too in such an appreciative manner, nodding for her to continue.

"The mothers and the children would bring baskets, and we'd pick berries for the next coloring," she recalled fondly. "My father would come too, sometimes. But mostly I remember me and my mom, and the cousins and my aunts all walking to the grove. It was fun. Happy. Nice."

* * *

"I've never seen you dye your hair," Peter noted, remembering how she had said they had to pick berries for dyes often. "Or use hair dye at all."

"Yes, because this is synthetic dye," Gamora said, holding out a strip of her hair. "The closest approximation I can get to my family's color by memory. Most Zehoberi fauna is extinct anyway, so it wouldn't matter even if I was to know the exact recipe. The natural dye had to be replaced regularly. One of the benefits of synthetic dye: it's permanent."

* * *

"We'll totally get some dye next time we hit the market," Peter promised, his eyes bright and eager, very excited and looking forward to it. He was also very, very adorable. "You know, if you had told me this before we got married, we could've had my hair dyed before our wedding," he raised his eyebrows at her with a knowing smile.

"I didn't remember until after our wedding happened," Gamora said quietly, shrugging. Not in an especially sad or serious way, just… a bit subdued.

Peter's face softened at that, an instant understanding that made her feel so warm. Because he knew. He knew that good memories could also be triggered. She didn't have to explain it to him, how she only remembered it after their wedding happened. Only remembered it because their wedding happened, really.

Gamora knows that he knew the feeling.

Like when they'd be browsing in a shop and an item would catch his eye, and Peter would softly say 'think my mom would've liked that' as a specific memory was brought forth that had long since been forgotten. And there's that look on his face, like he's surprised by the memory itself. She always grabs her hand in those moments, rubs her thumb over the back of his, and he turns and gives her a sad, sweet, and grateful smile.

She had a feeling her expression was much the same now, and that that was the reason why Peter took her hand. He slowly intertwined their fingers, bringing his other hand up to cup hers between both of his.

"Thank you for telling me," he murmured, bringing her hand that he had cradled between his to his lips to kiss it and holding it there. She knew that wasn't what he meant. He was her husband, he was supposed to know since he had joined her family now. He was supposed to know the things he was supposed to do as Gamora's husband, and he'd do it, because he'd do anything for her. He was her family. She knew he wasn't actually thanking her for telling him that he needed to dye his hair now that they were married. She knew what he meant.

 _Thank you for sharing._

 _Thank you for trusting me._

 _Thank you for loving me._

"Anytime," Gamora smiled, and from the crinkles around his eyes, he knew what that meant too.

 _I love you too._

* * *

 **AN: comments are like soft soft starmora hair stroking  
**


End file.
